Young Spirits
by AaylaSecura
Summary: Not sure about the genres. Anyway, Steve's new case is anything but normal. Now, he and his friends have to deal with protecting one victim and finding another before it's too late. Better than it sounds. R&R please! And no flames!
1. The New Case

** Young Spirits**

**Hello. This is my first DM fic. Hopefully, it turns out pretty well. Let me know what you think, okay?**

Steve Sloan lay in bed deep in sleep. Perhaps he was dreaming of women walking along the beach in tight bikinis. Perhaps he wasn't. If he was, he didn't get to finish it. The phone rang loudly, rudely awakening the detective. "No," he muttered, turning over and putting his pillow over his ears. "Today is my day off. Thank you." The phone continued ringing. Finally, Steve picked it up after muttering some very colorful words. "Hello?" he asked groggily. He knew that it was probably import-ant, but what he heard was exactly the opposite of what he expected to hear. He had expected to here about some rich reporter found in his parlor with a knife in his chest, or a model woman found in her bed with a bullet through her head. However, he heard neither. "Are you sure?" he asked into the phone. "All right. I'll be right over."

Steve was not a morning person, even on the days that he had to work; but especially not on the days that he was off. But this day was different. He jumped out of bed, grabbed his clothes, took a quick shower, and ran upstairs to grab a quick bite to eat before he left. "Good morning, Steve," Mark Sloan greeted his son somewhat surprised. "You're up awfully early."

"New case," was all that Steve answered him with.

"I though today was your day off," Mark said. He watched his son's brown-haired head bob up and down, signifying that Mark had been correct. "Well, the least you can do is have a good breakfast before you leave," Mark said, setting down to plates with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast and two glasses of milk on the table.

"Thanks," Steve said. "But I think I'll stick with something quick." Before Mark could object, Steve grabbed a poptart and all but flew out the door. Mark chuckled and shook his head as he sat down to at least eat his own breakfast. However, the wheels inside his head were turning. What could be so important that it would cause his son to pop out of bed, get ready in record time, and choose to have a poptart for breakfast? His son was very self-conscious about his weight, and he nearly always had the healthy breakfasts that Mark prepared for them. _Maybe I'll give him a call later this afternoon_, Mark thought as he cleared the dishes.

"Where is she?" Steve asked before he had even really walked into the precinct. A young officer quickly escorted him to a padded room, where a young teenaged girl sat hugging her knees. The girl had black hair that reached to her mid-back, and her blue eyes were glazed as though she was in a different world. "How long has she been like that?" Steve asked the young officer.

"Since she got here," the officer replied. Steve's eyes never left the girl as he listened to the story. "I was on my rounds," the officer said, "when I spotted the girl walking out of an alley. I jumped out of the car, seeing that she was weak. Sure enough, as soon as I got there, she collapsed. I gently picked her up, but she refused to be taken to a hospital; so I brought her here. I figured you could help her and maybe get her to open up. She hasn't said a word since I found her. She doesn't look, does she?"

It was true. Steve had to admit that. The girl's left eye was almost swollen shut. She had various cuts on her face and arms. Dark bruises were forming all over her face, and Steve could see the imprint of hands on her upper arms. "All right," Steve said. "Give me a key so I can go talk to her."

The officer gave him the key, and he opened the door, intending to give the girl a smile and tell her everything would be okay. But it didn't happen that way. The girl immediately came out of her dazed state and snapped her head up to look at the detective. Steve would never forget the look of horror and pain that he saw on the girl's face. It cut right through his heart. The girl scooted off as far as she could until she hit a corner. Then, she tried to make herself as small as possible. Steve walked in, which only served to increase the girl's terror. It didn't help as he walked toward her, either. Then, he realized that he had seen this girl before. He had seen her a great many times in a great many different places. He knew that she was very independent and afraid of very few things. And she surely wasn't a non-social person. What could have reduced her down to this frail, timid being sitting before him? Steve didn't know, but he intended to find out.

"Hey there," Steve said, reaching out his hand to the girl. A look of recognition flittered across the girl's pained features as she looked at Steve's face. Apparently, she remembered Steve just like he did her. She obviously had a little pride left, but Steve wasn't sure about independence. The girl glared at him but still maintained her position. Steve was a little afraid of walking any closer than he had to the girl. He was afraid that she would lash out at him.

Steve was beginning to feel very awkward. He knew he should do something, but he didn't know what. He thought about reaching out to the girl again, but he decided against it. The last thing he needed was to turn this girl against him. "Okay," he said with a shrug as he stood up. "I can talk, and you can listen. I hope you feel okay." At this, he received a glare from the girl. It was obvious that she was _not_ okay, but Steve ignored this and continued. "I wonder where you've been the time that you were missing. I mean, surely you must have been missing for a while. Listen, honey, I need you to cooperate. Could you at least tell me if there was anyone else with you?"

Steve saw the girl visibly flinch as he called her honey. Her eyes filled with tears that threatened to overcome her, but she wouldn't let them. Finally, she nodded. Steve looked out the window at the officer standing just outside. They exchanged glances, and then Steve turned back to the girl. This had just turned into a deadly game of tag. And Steve was determined to win.

**Well, what did you think? Was it good? Was it bad? Click on the review button and tell me. I'm a feedback addict. Oh, and I might not get to update for a little while. My com-puter is going to be down for a little while until we get some money to activate Windows with. By this time probably tomorrow, my computer is going to be croaked. So sorry if you liked this! But I promise I will have the next chapter up at most three days after my computer is back up! Stay tuned!**


	2. Safe?

**Hhmm. I think I need some reviews. Maybe this chapter will elicit them. I don't know what exactly you're looking for, but I'll try to give it to you. Here's a win/win situation. I write chapters, and you review. How does that sound? Anyway, why don't you read this next chapter? Don't forget to review at the end! (And again, I thank ChaCha1? for her wonderful suggestions that I have tried to put into this chapter!)**

Chapter Two

Safe?

Steve and Mark Sloan sat in their house on a couch. On the couch opposite them was a girl a young officer had recently found. The father and son had been working for hours trying to get the girl to say anything, especially something that would help them. However, the only thing the girl ever did was draw her knees up to her chest and hug them; but her gaze never left the men sitting in front of her.

Steve was getting very frustrated very quickly. The only thing that was different in this interro-gative time with the girl from the one he had had in the precinct was the fact that the girl's eyes didn't look glazed over as if she was in a different world, and she didn't put up quite so much defiance. It was as if she was tired of trying to resist. She had given in, but she still could not talk. _Can't or won't?_ Steve thought, more than a little irritated. His father was the only thing that prevented him from making this girl talk his way.

Something traumatic had happened to the girl in front of him. That much was for sure. However, what was it? Mark saw that the girl offered little resistance while being led into the living room and ques-tioned, almost as if she thought something bad would happen if she did. However, the first thing she did as she sat on the couch was draw her knees up to her chest and wrap her arms around them. Steve had told him that the girl had said that there was another person in captivity. That made the situation all the more fragile. Mark was determined to get the girl to talk again, but he didn't want to scare her. "You know that the life of whoever else was with you depends upon you telling us where they are," Mark said.

The girl was very scared. She hated being with someone she didn't know, and she hated being questioned. But what she hated the most was that she couldn't talk. She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to! She just couldn't. She needed to tell them where the other captive was, but she couldn't. All she could hear was that horrific scream reverberating in her head over and over again. Finally, she grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, carefully keeping her eye on the two men sitting on the couch across from her the entire time. Then, she drew a picture and handed it to Mark.

Mark and his son looked down at the picture in Mark's hands. There was a picture of a boy probably no older than fifteen. The words "Ben: my brother" were written with an arrow pointing to the boy. Beside the boy was a picture of a large building that the father and son could only guess was a warehouse. The word "(Scream)" was written, coming from the building. "Is this the warehouse where your brother is in?" Mark asked gently.

The girl nodded.

"Is this his scream?"

Another nod.

"Is that what has kept you from speaking?"

Yet again, the girl nodded. Mark looked over at Steve with his eyebrow raised. They had found out who the other captive was, where he was, and what had kept the girl from talking. Now, they just had to figure out which warehouse, how to get in, and how to get to the boy without harming him.

"What is your name?" Mark asked.

The girl took another piece of paper and hurriedly scribbled something down. Then she handed it to Steve. "Leah," Steve read, pronouncing it like "Leea." Then he saw the girl shake her head ferociously and stick out her tongue, obviously signifying that the wretched name was not hers. "Oh," Steve said, a sudden spark of realization hitting him. "It's Leah." This time, he pronounced it with a long e and a short a, like the name in Star Wars; and this time, the girl nodded. Steve looked at his father, and the two had a conversation through their eyes.

Steve told his father that he was going to go to the station and see what he could find about this captive and the warehouse he was in. Mark told his son that he would stay and continue to work on getting the girl to trust them and talk again. Then he told Steve to be careful and quick. He didn't know what was happening, but it was surely bad. Because now that Leah had run away, their captors had probably gotten pretty angry; and their was no telling what they would do. Steve nodded and left, leaving the girl a thousand miles behind and his father so far about a mile behind.

**Sorry this chapter was so short. I have ideas of what I want to do, but I don't know how to get there. I'll keep working on my story, and you keep working on your reviews. See ya!**


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